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Yesterday, my dears, was a fun-filled sack of fun drops. First, a back story. My uncle makes stretchers for artists (and they look a little different than that picture, because they are Special. If you want an explanation on how so, comment and I will tell you), so I went to help him deliver them in New York City. Well, we finished our deliveries SUPER DUPER early, picked up his sand (yes. sand. Also, we picked it up across the street from Cedar Lake, which was in an episode of Gossip Girl. my uncle’s truck was in the background of said episode. legit, yo) and then went to another artist to help her with something for her paintings. This artist lives in SoHo in a GORGEOUS apartment, but SoHo also has a lovely amount of no parking, other than this little parking lot.
Well, we get to SoHo, go over to the parking lot and the guy there said that we couldn’t park there, that the lot was full, even though there were about three visible parking spots, so my uncle argued a little and the guy agreed. We grabbed our stuff, an $8,000 painting (that I later used to fan myself with. I’m so slick.), and left the car and the key with the guy to park. We go into the artist’s apartment for about an hour, then leave, and as we’re turning the corner, we see my uncle’s blue truck with it’s wooden rack on the top. But, the truck is not in a parking spot. It is parked half on the sidewalk, half in the street, next to a graffiti-covered wall, and there are two guys sitting in it. We go over to the truck, obviously and understandably confused and suspicious as to why there are two strange men inside. The guy in the driver’s seat said they were just starting it for us, suspicious already because they had not idea when we were coming back, and it was also not the case considering they were just sitting there talking with the doors open.
So my uncle pays the guy (a remarkably higher price than he usually pays, considering he’s parked there before), and comes back to the car, turns the key and… nothing. No starting. No sound, no… nothing. Now, the battery was not dead, which was our first thought, but the windows worked, the lights came on, the radio worked… but the car wouldn’t start. So, after my uncle attempted to get under the car, which was difficult considering we were weirdly parked, we called his friend on what little battery power my uncle had left on his phone (mine was already dead. Thanks, shitty ENV2) and he had to walk from Chelsea (specifically, because I like to show off my uncle’s famous-artist friends, the Hotel Chelsea, where Sid Vicious supposedly stabbed Nancy. I later learned that she was killed by drug dealers, Sid was asleep. But I digress,) to SoHo where we were. We called triple A, they sent a tow truck over and the truck was then towed. The tow truck also got stuck in traffic, due to the fact that New York City police officers are opposed to letting street lights doing their jobs, so we were stuck for a little while, and then we got to the auto shop.
My first thought when we got there was: sketchy shop place is sketchy, and oh boy was it. Not only was the guy a major Creeper (I’ll elaborate upon request), but there was a woman there, fairly disgruntled, who said to us, “Don’t leave your car here. If you want it fixed, don’t leave it here.” We had no other options, considering my uncle needed to get his truck fixed ASAP, but this was not exactly a thrilling thing to hear. So, we find out there was a simple connector problem, which could not be fixed that day, so my uncle’s friend would have to pick it up and drive it Upstate when he comes back up, so my uncle and I proceeded to board a bus from The Port Authority to Kingston, then to Kingston to home.
So, naturally, I got home tired, hungry (considering the last time I ate was 7 that morning), smelly, sticky and sweaty at about 11, only to constantly be reminded that I had to get up AGAIN at six to work today. So, I was no happy camper, but a shower, large bottle of water and bowl of Ramen noodles later, I was feeling better and happy to get to sleep. In other news, today was my first day back at work. The noobs working there this year are stupider than they were last year. But, oh well, at least it finally feels like summer again. Enough of my whining.

Hope you all are well! Letter 12 to come tomorrow!

WHERETHEDUCKSGO

note: The picture at the beginning of this post is one of Richard Hambleton’s shadow men that he painted all over the East Village, a gallery of which you can see here. His painting is the one I rudely fanned myself with. I give him permission to use any future publication of mine as a tissue. Or toilet paper.)